I Left a Small Town for the Apple in Decay
by Emoryems
Summary: A follow up to Your Sins Into Me and In The End. Kurt can't sleep in the motel room with the boys for reasons that Mr. Schuester just can't understand. Previous parts include explicit non-con.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: mentioned non-con (and flashback), anxiety  
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**A/N**: I feel like this is no good. I don't know - I worked hard on this, but it hasn't come out the way I wanted it to. I decided to just post it anyway. I really hope that you like it in any case.

Thank you to all of those who take the time to let me know what they think – you guys are the reason I still post most of what I write. I send you all hugs and cookies :)

I Left a Small Town for the Apple in Decay

Kurt stares out the window of the plane, eyes transfixed on the surreal scenery all around, his lips lightly parted. There is something about looking out at a floor of clouds, all white and whipped mounds of fluff like the meringue on top of a pie or the stuffing from a pillow, that fills him with awe.

All above the white masses is a dome of dark blue, the sky clear and edged at its periphery with a lighter haze of colour. It is breath-taking, and he wishes he could paint a picture of its beauty in his mind that would never fade at the edges or smudge like footprints in sand.

The New Directions glee club fills a large section of the plane to New York, and the sound of excited talking and laughing is almost overwhelming. Kurt smiles, letting the buzz of conversation from the other members of New Directions wash over him, and leans back in his seat.

He's happy to be back at McKinley, happy to be back with the tight-knit and dysfunctional version of a family that this glee club represents. No matter how much he will miss the Warblers and being able to spend almost every day with Blaine, he will never regret transferring back.

Now that Karofsky is gone, that is. Gone and in a place where he can't touch Kurt, can't hurt him.

Somewhere to his left, toward the middle of the airplane, Rachel squawks in protest over something and several voices burst into uncontrollable giggles. Kurt turns away from the window, away from the clouds and the sun, and smiles at his friends, joining in on the fun.

Soon they'll be in New York, the city he dreams of. And he's going to make the best of it.

~?~

They arrive at the hotel in a flurry of overly-excited antics, the members of New Directions awed and amazed by their adventure to New York City, and Kurt almost bounces his way out of the shuttle. There are taxicabs strewn across the entire area, a sea of shining yellow, and he realizes that maybe the tales and movies don't lie; there really are that many of them.

Kurt takes in one deep breath and grins, joy brightening his eyes and filling his face with emotion. He's really here, in New York, at _Nationals_. And it isn't a dream or a fantasy he's conjured in his imagination – it's real.

The smile stays on Kurt's face as he hefts his suitcase from the back of the shuttle and pulls the handle up so that he can drag it behind him on smoothly gliding wheels.

As New Directions, headed by Mr. Schuester, enter the hotel lobby Kurt is immediately impressed; the modern look and spacious entrance are good signs. He only hopes that his luck will continue when they get to see the rooms.

When Mr. Schuester has finally registered them at the reception and handed out keycards, not to mention wrangled Puck and Lauren from the bar, they make their way en-masse to the fifth floor where they are located. Kurt will never admit it out loud, but as he carries his hefty suitcase with a quickly tiring arm, he almost wishes he had packed a little lighter. Almost.

"522 – that's you, girls," Mr. Schuester announces about halfway down a hall, all of the members of glee clustered behind him with full arms and flushed faces. "And 524 – that's the boys."

Rachel is practically bouncing up and down, her eyes alight with excitement. If it wasn't for the same emotion mirrored in Kurt's own chest, he would roll his eyes at her. He decides to anyway.

"Take all of your stuff and get settled," Mr. Schuester directs, eyeing them all. "We'll meet in the girls' room in thirty minutes." His pointed glare, ruined by the hint of a smile tilting his lips, passes by every set of eyes.

With that, the teacher turns to room 523, right across the hall from them, and uses his own keycard to enter.

Finn, who is holding one of the two keycards to the boys' room, shrugs and unlocks the door, pushing through without any hesitation. Puck and Sam go next, the blonde holding the door open for Artie to wheel through. Mike follows without a backward glance, his slight form quickly lost behind a closed door.

Kurt looks down the hall, watching as the last of the girls disappears into the other room, the heavy door swinging closed behind. The sound of it clicking shut sounds final, and Kurt shakes his head, telling himself that it won't be so bad. That he can do this.

Bracing himself, Kurt breathes in deeply and releases the air from his lungs in a slow stream over his lips. And then he pushes open the door to his room.

The room is small – smaller then Kurt had hoped. He steps into the shared boys' room with his suitcase in one hand and pauses, just taking in the sight before him. There would be very little spare room for three or four boys, much less six.

There are several beds and one couch, but they are all clustered closely together so that even if they all had individual beds they would be sharing personal space. He had hoped that there would be more room, more space that he could sleep separate from all of the others.

A little spark of worry gnaws at Kurt, and he knows that he should push it away, ignore it in favour of just getting on, but it holds fast.

Watching Puck, Sam and Finn sprawl out, relishing in the softness of the beds, Kurt doesn't know if he can do this. He's barely had a few seconds to examine the layout, to consider the situation, and already he knows he won't be comfortable.

Tingles of apprehension shoot up and down his spine, catching in his chest and in his throat, but he squares his shoulders and walks further into the hotel room with his head held high.

As long as he keeps his wits about him and does his relaxation exercises he should be okay. A little bit of discomfort won't be so bad and there is no way that Kurt will let the ghosts of his past beat him, not when he has wanted this for so long.

He has to try. After all, he can always talk to Mr. Schuester about it later.

~?~

Kurt doesn't bother unpacking his suitcase, though he does pull out his various suits and hang them in the small closet, setting his matching shoes below. There is nothing worse than a wrinkled suit and clashing colours, and Kurt Hummel will never be seen in a travesty of the sort that the other boys' suits will be, stuffed into their suit cases the way they are.

There is still a few minutes left until they have to go to the other room, and the other male members of New Directions are taking the opportunity to mill around, digging through bags and inspecting the quality of the mattresses. Kurt barely manages to restrain a sigh of weary disdain as Puck and Finn bicker over who gets to sleep on which side.

With nothing left to do, Kurt sits down, crossing his arms and his legs as though by adopting such a pose could block the world out, and lets his thoughts drift. He feels a pang of sadness at where they immediately go, knowing that a year ago he would never have spared such thoughts the time of day.

There are good days and there are bad days, sometimes triggered by something that happens and sometimes not. He will have a nightmare that will stay with him all day, or he will be surprised by someone walking up behind him and he will feel that edge of anxiety twisting up inside for hours afterward.

Sighing, knowing that dwelling on it too much will just make him feel worse, Kurt stands, intent on making a stop in the bathroom before they have to leave, when it happens.

All it takes is one close brush of Puck's shoulder against his to start the panic rising in his chest this time. It is nothing more than the two of them trying to step around the end of Finn's bed at the same time, but the way Kurt feels has nothing to do with logic, and he certainly can't stop it.

Puck passes by with a jerk of his head and a "'sup?" on his lips. Nothing outlandish or extraordinary; just Puck existing in close proximity.

Kurt can't control what triggers his anxiety; sure, he can try and avoid certain situations, but he can't just stop living his life. Or keep medicated with sedatives to the point of addiction. So although it doesn't surprise him that the physical closeness with Puck would set his nerves on end, it does make him want to drive his fist into the nearest surface.

He wishes he could forget.

He is in New York, in the city of his dreams, and all of the excitement and the wonder are now being siphoned away by the intrusion of his thoughts. By the sizzle of electric unease, like a thousand butterflies in his chest and spreading throughout his body.

After a few minutes in which his heart continues to flutter and the sense that something is intensely wrong continues to grow, Kurt sits on his couch and tries to block out everything around him. He ignores the avid conversation happening just feet away and focuses inward, the intense feeling of something just being so wrong fluttering in his veins.

Between his early conversations with Wes and his more recent visits to first the Dalton councillor and now one at a local practice, Kurt has learned several techniques to deal with his anxiety. He starts going through them, progressing from the simple exercises that he has incorporated into everyday life, to those that take greater concentration.

Kurt almost wishes he had accepted the prescription for lorazepam that his physician had suggested when he finds himself getting caught before any of his exercises can work and having to start again.

He's in the middle of trying to visualize his surroundings, starting with his peripheral vision and working outward until his memory is the only reserve of detail, when a voice interrupts him.

"Hey dude. You okay?" Finn asks quietly so that the other's can't hear, slowly sitting next to Kurt on the couch. He leaves enough space that Kurt doesn't feel cornered or suffocated.

"Yeah," Kurt says with a tight smile. "I'll be fine." He just hopes his words won't come back to haunt him. He hopes that he will get the fear and the worry under control before it consumes him.

Finn, eyes still wary and concerned, nods. "Okay – if you're sure."

"I am." Kurt is almost amazed by how much he sounded like his dad in those two words.

"We're gonna head over to the girls' room. You coming?" Finn points over his right shoulder with his thumb and raises his eyebrows.

Standing, Kurt says, "Yes, of course. I'll be right there." He then heads to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him without a single backward glance.

Looking into the mirror, but not seeing anything beyond the dark rings below his eyes and the mostly-faded bruise on his face, Kurt starts to quietly speak.

"You can do this," he says to the reflective glass. "You have to do this."

He knows he is safe here, that none of the glee guys would ever hurt him like Karofsky did. But somehow that knowledge doesn't seem to matter.

~?~

The tide of apprehension threatens to engulf him, shadowing him throughout the entire meeting. He hides it behind smiles and sarcasm, hoping that no one will notice something is wrong.

His initial will to try and muddle through is eroding fast, and he knows that within the hour he will have lost the will completely. The way he is feeling now, how easily he has fallen into a place of panic and anxiety, leaves him worried that there might be other consequences.

Like full blown anxiety attacks. Or flashbacks.

He has had two really bad flashbacks – both which had been debilitating at the time – and he has no urge to have another, especially around so many people that don't know the full story of what had happened before he had transferred to Dalton.

Sitting beside Rachel on the hotel bed isn't so bad; he's at the edge where he can easily get away and he is relatively at ease with his bed-mates. It doesn't make him feel uncomfortable or make him want to get away, so Kurt relaxes into the headboard and tries to calm down and focus on anything but his inner thoughts.

He will have to talk to Mr. Schuester and move into the girls' room. He honestly cannot see any other way – at least, none that are plausible.

With that thought in mind he also tries to put any thoughts about what the first night here might hale – how his impending conversation with Mr. Schuester will go, and whether or not he will have to stay with the boys.

"Hey – you with us?"

Kurt looks up at Mercedes and offers a tight smile, a little excitement bleeding through his want to curl up in a dark room somewhere and hide, and nods. "Of course," he says. "Can you believe it?"

Mercedes sits on the edge of the bed, pushing Kurt's legs over so that she has room. "What?"

"This," Kurt says and raises his hands to indicate the room. "Being in New York, making it to Nationals."

Mercedes smiles, her eyes crinkling a little in the corners. "Not really. I keep expecting to wake up."

Kurt laughs gently and looks out the window into the city, watching pigeons flutter across the sky and seeing a sea of buildings. "Me too."

~?~

Kurt waits until Mr. Schuester is alone after the meeting and heading back to his own room to talk to him. All of the other members of glee club have stayed in the girls' room to write, leaving the hallways empty but for the two of them.

Kurt straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, trying to look determined, and approaches Mr. Schuester. "Mr. Schue? May I speak with you?"

The teacher's eyebrows lift in question and he says, "Of course you can, Kurt."

"I need to talk to you about sleeping arrangements."

Mr. Schuester's brows pull together now and a little frown tugs at his lips. "I thought we had everything figured out – you get the couch alone and the other boys will share the beds. That's what you all decided on, right?"

Kurt nods in agreement, but continues, "I don't think it is in the best interests of all of our members if I sleep in the boys' room. Now, as you know, I am close with almost all of the girls, and I would like to propose allowing me to spend the nights with them."

Mr. Schuester's head starts shaking almost before Kurt has finished speaking. "I'm sorry, Kurt, but no. I can't let you do that."

"But Mr. Schuester, it is more comfortable for everyone if I do; the girls won't mind. I have sleepovers with them all of the time." Well – with Mercedes, Tina, Rachel, and once or twice Santana and Brittany. But Mr. Schuester doesn't need to know that.

"No. Kurt, you're sleeping with the boys."

Kurt's tone is starting to change from sharp politeness to razor-like irritation. He knows he has to control himself, but this is more than just some childish whim. "The boys will be much more comfortable without me there."

"What are you talking about, Kurt? You guys get along fine."

Kurt wants to gape in disbelief at Mr. Schuester. The man's heart is in the right place, there is no denying that, but he's so oblivious to this situation that it is ridiculous. Even if Kurt didn't have his own motives for wanting to sleep in the girls' room, his argument is still solid.

"Mr. Schuester –"

"Kurt. No." The teacher's voice is startlingly strict. "You're sleeping with the boys, and that's final."

And just like that any hope Kurt had is dashed. Mr. Schuester's rejection rings in his ears like a gunshot, piercing him with its unthinking and unintentional cruelty. The Spanish teaches might not know all of what had happened, but he had been to see Kurt in the hospital after the second attack. He had seen Kurt's bruises, his broken bones, and he had heard about what had caused them. The older man doesn't know about the first attack, about the rape – Kurt hasn't told him.

But he shouldn't have to tell him, thinks Kurt, and he doesn't understand why Mr. Schuester would so bluntly turn down his request. It feels like a betrayal.

~?~

He's ashamed. There is so much more to life, so much more that he wants to do, and everything comes back to that bastard Karofsky. It's like every single thing he does is drenched in memories of being hurt and violated – Kurt is getting tired of waiting for a day when he doesn't think of it at all.

In the beginning, all of those months ago, he had had so much hope – hope that he would move on, learn to get on with his life – but on days like this, when it consumes him so fully, he feels like he'll never have reprieve.

There is too much worry churning in Kurt's mind and tightening his throat to eat that night at dinner. His bowl of ginger rice sits before him, barely touched, and he keeps silent through much of the meal.

"Hey boo," Mercedes says eventually, leaning into him. "You feeling okay?"

Kurt smiles at her reassuringly, and the insincerity of the expression eats at him. "Fine. I'm just worried about the competition. I mean – Nationals."

Mercedes nods in understanding. "Oh I know what you mean. But you should try to eat some." She raises a brow at his almost full dish. "You need to keep your strength up."

Swallowing hard, Kurt says, "You're right, of course." And tries to forces a few more bites passed his lips.

Mercedes smiles approvingly and goes back to talking with Tina on her other side.

The moment she looks away, Kurt sets his chopsticks down and sips at some water in hopes that it will calm his stomach. As he does, he looks out around the line of tables they have pushed together at the restaurant.

Everyone is engaged in conversations, laughing and joking and enjoying their time. He wants more than anything to be able to do that, but he can't seem to pull himself away from the thoughts that plague him.

~?~

Kurt knows he should have brought the problem up with Mr. Schuester weeks ago, back when he first knew that he would have to share a room with the boys during Nationals. Instead he had put off the conversation, turned his mind away from the issue, and focused on other things.

He doesn't want people to know. If he told Mr. Schuester what had happened, explained why he didn't want to stay with the boys, he would probably end up in the girls' room with no problem. But Kurt doesn't want to have to say anything; it's bad enough that it happened without needed to drag it out into the open all of the time.

But now, sitting on the edge of his couch in the shared hotel room, Kurt wishes he had done something sooner. Or made a stronger argument when he had confronted Mr. Schuester.

Because as it is the anxiety, that familiar panic that thrums through him, is simmering inside him, leaving his chest tight and head swimming. He can't do this; he can't stay here tonight and feel like this.

Kurt clenches his hands into loose fists, his flesh cold and fingers numb at the tips. Even in the warm spring weather he feels chilled.

Most of the New Directions club don't know what happened before he transferred to Dalton, and he wants to keep it that way. He can't risk having another sleepless night, not this close to Nationals, and he won't risk waking up everyone with his screams.

There are so many things that could go wrong, so many things that he could be triggered by in the room to remember Karofsky's assaults.

There are little things like the smell of sweat. It permeates the entire room as an undercurrent, catching in his nose every once in a while like a jolt of electricity.

Every time he smells it he starts to panic.

And then there are the actual boys themselves. In a normal situation, where they had the entire choir room to move around in, or when there were only a few of them, he could function alright. But with Puck, Sam and Finn, all who have large athletic statures, moving around he is constantly jumping and flinching away from them.

His entire body is thrumming with adrenaline and he can feel the deep pit of unease threatening to swallow him whole. It is tiring and it makes him want to find some empty room to lock himself in just to calm down.

Kurt waits until all of the boys are in their beds, cracking jokes and telling stories, for the chance to lock himself in the bathroom. He doesn't know where else he can go to be alone, to feel safe.

"Yo Hummel," Puck calls from his place next to Sam as Kurt stands and walks to the bathroom. "Your bro here is saying he scored 110,000 in Rock Band on expert. That true?"

From the doorway to the bathroom Kurt says, "Not even. Half that and it's still an exaggeration." Smirking a little, Kurt continues on his way. When he is facing away, features completely hidden from the others, Kurt's expression falls. It's getting harder to keep up an act of normalcy.

"Not cool, Kurt," Finn whines as Kurt closes the door. "That's got to be against the bro code or something."

Kurt latches the lock on the bathroom door, shutting himself in, and turns to the sink with his toiletries in hand.

Only to discover that someone has left a wadded up pile of clothes across the entirety of the countertop.

Almost freezing up in horror, Kurt mouths "oh my God" to the empty bathroom and shakes his head. Boys.

It gets worse as he takes a step toward the mess to clear it away and lands his foot in a puddle of water on the floor. By the time he has the pile of discarded clothes in hand he is thoroughly disgusted by the habits of the other guys.

Don't they know anything about picking up after themselves?

He is about to drop his burden into the corner of the bathroom, right behind the door where it won't be in the way, when something slithers out of the pile to land at his feet. Lifting one foot to slide the offending article of clothing forward, he looks down and sees what it is.

A black tie, coiled and undone from its knot.

Suddenly he isn't in a hotel bathroom in New York City; he is in the boys' locker room at McKinley High, hands tied in front of him and crushed into the bricks of a shower stall.

He hurts all over, but the worst is the sickening slaps of flesh echoing in the room and the smell of Karofsky, who is pressed against him – into him.

Harsh breathes blow over his neck and hands touch him, fondling him as he is violated.

When his vision suddenly clears of the images and the smell, sound and feel of Karofsky slowly fade away, Kurt trembles. The pile of clothing slips from his fingers and crumples to the ground. He feels wrong and disgusting and like this personal horror he is stuck in will never end.

The immersion into that hell, into the worst moment of his life, was only seconds long, but it feels like it just happened all over again.

Tears build in his eyes and bile stings the back of his throat as he fights the urge to throw up what little dinner he had managed to get down. He hates feeling like this, and he hates how Karofsky continues to affect him all these months later.

He hates how he lets it affect him so strongly, how he is so close to sobbing and throwing up and screaming all at once that he is frozen by the intensity of so much _feeling_.

Standing with the cold tiles of the bathroom floor beneath his feet and tears catching in his lashes, Kurt hears Artie laugh loud from the room, and he knows that he can't go back in there. Not while they are awake.

So Kurt sinks slowly down to sit on the thin mat in front of the sink, letting his back rest against the wooden cabinet. And waits.

Fifteen minutes later he can still hear the voices of the boys in the room. His heart is still beating in his chest, and he is getting angry and frustrated with every continued second of this. He shouldn't be this way. He should be strong enough to control how badly this affects him.

But he can't, and it makes him feel weak.

The knob to the drawer beneath the sink is digging into his back, providing a single point of distraction from the way he is feeling. He wishes there was something more, something better, that could draw his mind away. His eyes absently skitter over the tie laying on the floor, but this quick view has no effect. It's just a tie.

He hears Puck say something, the words muffled by the thick wood of the bathroom door, and then all of the boys laugh, their voices loud and raucous.

Sighing, Kurt leans his head back against the sink base, almost revelling in the 'thunk' of connection, and closes his eyes. They don't sound like they are going to be stopping any time soon.

~?~

It takes over an hour for the talking to stop, for the rest of the glee boys to finally fall asleep, and Kurt unlocks the bathroom door slowly. The door opens to reveal the boys sprawled across their beds, their light breaths filling the room and blocking out the silence of night.

Taking quick and careful steps, Kurt makes his way to the couch and sits down, keeping his eyes on all of the beds. The boys are nothing more than breathing lumps under the blankets, but it seems like they are watching him.

His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest still, increasing with every moment, his pulse pounding in his ears and drowning out the world. He is on the edge of an anxiety attack, the worry and fear prickling over his skin and squeezing the air from his lungs.

It is so ridiculous, so stupid, but Kurt feels like Karofsky is sitting in the room with him, just waiting to pounce. He knows intellectually that that isn't true, but something about the presence of all of the boys around him makes it feels so.

He supposes there is nothing logical about the way his adrenaline spikes, filling him with anxious energy.

He has only been out of the bathroom for a minute, maybe even less, and he can't take it anymore; he has to get out. There is no way that he can stay in this room.

He'll sneak out. He'll send Mercedes a text and ask her to open the door, and if she doesn't answer he'll knock. Because there is no way he can be here any longer.

Grabbing his carry-on bag from the flight, already filled with two changes of clothes, an emergency toiletry kit, and his wallet, Kurt walks to the door, the weight of his cell phone a reassurance in his pocket. He'll just go out in the hall and send the text.

And then maybe he can relax a little, maybe even sleep.

Kurt pushes the door open slowly, easing his way out of the room with gentle footfalls and hands pressing the door steadily so that he can listen for creaks from the metal hinges. When there is a gap big enough for him to just barely fit through he goes, keeping close to the doorframe.

Just as he has fully exited the room, one hand guiding the door shut behind him, he looks up and right into a pair of stunned eyes.

"Kurt? Do you need something?" There is something in Mr. Schuester's voice, a kind of undermining sarcasm, which digs its way under Kurt's skin.

As subtly as possible he turns his body, hiding the bag he holds in his hand, keeping his eyes up so that Mr. Schuester won't see the shifting.

"I was just," Kurt begins with barely a skip to his speech, "going to ask when you wanted us up for tomorrow." There is sweat prickling at his forehead and disappointment churning in his stomach. "I would hate to set my alarm wrong – looking great takes time, you know."

Mr. Schuester stares at him for a moment, eyes intense, but he nods and seems to accept the answer. "Eight thirty should be fine, Kurt."

Kurt forces a smile to appear on his face and uses one hand to pry the door of the hotel room open again. "Oh – that's perfect. Thanks Mr. Schuester."

The teacher nods and a little furrow deepens his brow as he says, "Of course. Goodnight, Kurt."

Pulling himself back into the room and trying to look nonchalant, Kurt says, "Goodnight Mr. Schue." He then shuts to door and the smile falls from his lips, the muscles of his cheeks aching with the force of holding so long.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Kurt stares into the darkness of the room, feeling like he is in a prison not a hotel, and then closes his eyes. He doesn't react as a single tear presses its way from between his lids and trails down his cheeks to pool between his collar bones.

He's too busy trying to hold off the barrage of crushing trepidation.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt doesn't know how long he stands in front of the hotel room door with his bag clutched in his hand, but he realizes that it must have been upward of ten minutes when his fingers have gone completely numb. He knows that when he loosens them from their tight grip pins and needles will trails over his flesh, so he keeps them locked tight just a little bit longer.

His breathing is still hitching in his chest and his extremities feel frozen, as though he is standing outside in the middle of winter with no warm clothes to protect him. He has noticed that he gets cold a lot now, though, so he doesn't think much of it.

A grunt and the sound of shifting blankets immediately raises Kurt's attention and he stares out into the room, trying to figure out who had moved, but all is dark and silent again.

He has to get out.

He'll risk running into Mr. Schuester, risk getting into trouble, because he isn't going to stay here for one more moment.

Taking a cautionary minute to look through the peephole, Kurt sees nothing more then an empty hallway stretching outward on either side of the room. Mr. Schuester's door is shut and the set of couches at the end of the hall are unoccupied.

Before he can think further than the ends of the long hallway, Kurt has jerked the door open again, and is slipping out of the room fast. He immediately turns to the right and continues to the end of the hall, peeking around the corner before proceeding.

He lets his feet guide him, mind too full and twirling with thoughts to truly make a plan beyond getting away. He quickly finds himself in the staircase, the solid concrete causing his every footfall to echo loudly as he climbs up two levels.

He exits the staircase on the seventh floor without anything specific in mind, and cringes when the door shuts with a loud 'thud' behind him. He instinctively keeps close to the walls at all times and he doesn't stop moving until he has turned several corners and runs into a small alcove to the side.

There is a single door to his right and a potted plant in the corner beside it – the door has a plaque with 'Maintenance' scrawled across the front and the plants leaves shine in their entire fake glory in the hotel's lights.

Not knowing where to go, what to do, Kurt paces in the small area with a throat full of uncertainty. He can't just wander the halls of the hotel all night, but he doesn't know what he _can _do.

Maybe he should just go back down and talk to Mr. Schuester. Just tell him the truth about why he doesn't want to stay with the boys.

But he really doesn't want to have to break down and tell the man something so personal, something that he doesn't want anyone to know about.

Licking his lips, Kurt reaches one hand into the pocket of his jacket, fingers connecting with the cool plastic of his phone. He pulls the small device out, hands trembling, and just stares at it for a moment.

It doesn't take long before he is unlocking the screen and scrolling through his contacts, fingers hovering over his home number, and wanting to push 'dial' so bad. He wants to talk to his dad, ask him what he should do, and trust that his dad will know what is best.

But then he really doesn't want to disturb his dad, especially not after all of the stress he has put him through this year.

Shaking his head, knowing that he won't do it, Kurt scrolls back up, eventually finding one of the only other numbers he would consider calling. He knows that Wes would be more than happy to talk, probably even offer advice on how to calm down, but Kurt doesn't know if they are good enough friends to be calling past midnight.

Not wanting to deliberate any longer, feeling his sense of urgency becoming stronger then before, Kurt presses down hard on the name his finger highlights, and pulls the phone to his ear. The rings on the other end starts immediately, and Kurt knows it is ridiculous, but by the third unanswered ring he feels like crying all over again.

"Pick up," he urges into his cell phone. "Please – please pick up."

The hand that isn't holding his cell phone is rubbing at the material of his jacket, fingers digging into the material along with the anxious motions. The carpet of the hotel hallway blurs beneath his feet as he paces and his shoes drag on the rough fibres.

"Hey," Blaine voice suddenly appears over the line, "how's New York? Are you loving it?"

The enthusiasm, the way Blaine is so obviously happy for him, gives Kurt a short pause from the chaos in his mind, and he takes the time to try and control his breathing and sniffle as quietly as he can. "It's amazing," he says eventually. "Just like I dreamed." Only it's not; because he is always happy here when it's a dream.

"That's great, Kurt." Blaine's smile, the way his eyes wrinkle a little and the colour brightens with the expression, appears in Kurt's mind with the words.

"Yeah."

"What's going on? You sound upset."

Kurt uses the back of one shaking hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks and says, "Will you just talk to me?"

"Sure," Blaine says immediately. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't care. Anything."

Kurt hears Blaine draw in a breath before he says, "Do you want to talk about what's going on?"

Kurt swallows hard. "Not really." His voice is sharp and bitter – all of the things that Blaine doesn't deserve to have thrown at him. "Sorry," he says quietly, sincerely.

"It's okay. Is it – are you nervous about Nationals?"

Kurt laughs lowly. "Unbelievably, even though I know we are going to win this. But that's not what's bothering me, not really."

"Well," Blaine starts to say, "is there anything I can do to help?"

"No." Kurt bites his lip and winces at the sharp tang of blood that bursts over his tongue as he bites down a little too hard. "But talking – talking is good."

"Okay. Uh." Blaine pauses and then says, "What did you do today? See any of the sights?"

Kurt thinks back over his day, but everything comes back to his anxiety and worry over sleeping arrangements. To his flashback in the bathroom. He doesn't think he can keep up this facade of a conversation, even if it is he who asked for it in the first place.

"I can't stay in my room tonight," Kurt says suddenly. Maybe if he gets it out fast it'll be easier.

"Okay," Blaine says slowly. "Is there a particular –"

"It reminds me of being around Karofsky. I keep panicking and I can't relax, and now I'm hiding from Mr. Schuester on another level of the hotel."

"Oh." Nothing else comes from Blaine's end.

"Yeah. It's pathetic."

There is a sharp inhale and then Blaine is saying, "No, it isn't."

"I know. I know that," Kurt whispers, Blaine's words a comfort nonetheless. "I just wish this was over."

There is a moment before Kurt speaks again. "I hate this. I hate how I let him get to me." Kurt cringes. It's hard to accept that this really isn't his fault.

Kurt won't forget the way the anger and indignation had burnt like acid through his veins when Blaine had seen the bite marks that Karofsky had left on him. It is as though the memory is doused in emotion - with every remembrance only the tiniest fraction of its power draining away - and even the thought of it makes Kurt's hackles rise.

Blaine had wanted so badly to go after Karofsky, to _do_ something about it, but Kurt hadn't wanted to. He had be angry with Blaine for pushing it, for not letting it go, and he thinks that maybe the anger wasn't really directed at Blaine, but at himself.

Because every once in a while when he's thinking about how it all played out, he wishes that he would have done something different. But he didn't. And he's going to have to start accepting that.

"The trial was weeks ago," Kurt whispers. "He's locked up and – and 'getting help' and I still can't get him out of my head."

Blaine doesn't say anything, just listening to the words as they pour from Kurt's mouth.

"I don't know what to do," Kurt says into the receiver. "It's so stupid, so weak, but I just can't be in there." Kurt feels like a broken record, repeating his self-blame over and over again.

"Hey – don't say that. It's not stupid, and it certainly isn't weak. You can't control this."

The words, how they come so easily from Blaine, make Kurt feel guilty. It's like he's piling all of these problems on Blaine and not giving anything back.

"I know. I just wish –" Kurt cuts off, going quiet.

"Me too," Blaine says, understanding without words what Kurt means. "But you have to stop blaming yourself – nothing good will come from it."

"I know – I know. It's just –"

"Hard to forget," Blaine says, finishing Kurt's thought. "I know I don't talk about it much, but you remember what I told you happened after that Sadie Hawkins dance?"

"Of course." Kurt's chest aches at the thought of what Blaine had gone through.

"Well," Blaine continues, "I still flinch sometimes, when someone reaches toward me or when something moves fast at me from the side. I still have nightmares. It never just went away, you know?"

"Yeah." Kurt closes his eyes and lets a breath shudder its way from his chest. "I'm sorry."

"No. That isn't why I told you that," Blaine says. "I told you because I want you to know that I understand some of what you're going through. If you ever need to talk, I'll be here."

Sniffing and trying to control the shaking in his hands, Kurt nods and says, "Okay. Thank you."

After a brief silence, Blaine's voice appears over the line once again. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Kurt says. "I don't have anything that I can do."

"What if you ask your dad to get you a room for the night?" Blaine asks.

Kurt is shaking his head before Blaine has finished speaking, arms wrapping around his head as he paces in the hall. "No."

"Why not?"

"This hotel is expensive."

"Can you ask your dad to buy you a single room? At least for tonight until we can figure something else out?"

The glimpse of hope that ignites in his chest fizzles out within seconds, before the idea can become more than a hazy picture in his mind. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I can't do that to them, Blaine. I can't ask for more from my family – not this much, not again. They almost lost everything just to put me in Dalton, just to keep me safe."

"Hey, hey. Calm down. We'll figure something out." Blaine's voice is calming, like a balm to Kurt's frayed and thrumming nerves.

"What is there to do? I'm in a city that I don't know – where I don't know where anything or anyone is."

"That's it!" Blaine says excitedly. "I know someone in New York – just give me a minute, okay? I'll call him on the landline so I don't have to hang up on you."

Kurt's brows pull together. "Who do you know? Blaine – I don't want to bother some stranger, and I'd prefer to suffer through staying with the boys if –"

"Whoa, hold up. I'm sorry, I got carried away. It's not a stranger, I promise."

"Who is it?"

"My brother lives in New York – you remember him right? My dad stays with him when he has to do business there. He has two guest rooms that almost never get used. I can just call them, my dad's there now, and they can come get you, okay?"

Kurt's eyes move around rapidly as he debates his options. "I barely know them, Blaine." He pauses. "And I really don't want to bother your family – that would be a huge inconvenience."

He can just sneak back into the boys' room. Maybe he can stay in the bathroom all night, keep the door locked. He won't get much sleep, but it's the best option that he has.

"Hey," says Blaine, "you know my dad – you see him almost every time you come over. You know he won't mind, not when it's something important."

"Blaine…"

"Come on, Kurt. It's the perfect solution."

"I don't know."

Kurt hears the sound of numbers being dialled on the other end, and quickly says, "Wait – Blaine, don't call. It's okay, I'll figure something out."

"Too late," Blaine replies. "You're at the Intercontinental, right? That's where you told me you were going to be. Here. Just give me a minute – don't hang up." And then he is gone.

Kurt is left hissing, "Blaine. Blaine – don't," into an unresponsive phone line.

Right now he really wishes he had never phoned Blaine, had just suffered through the night as best he could and tried to figure something out for the next few days. Because this is almost worse, the thought of having to bother Blaine's family because he can't get over what was done to him, because his body and his mind are out of his control in ways that make him want to sit down and cry.

His right hand, the one holding the phone to his ear, is starting to cramp from his tight grip and his last two digits are aching. They are the ones he broke fighting Karofsky off the second time, and they have healed fairly well, only bothering him when he overworks them.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice comes back over the line maybe a minute later. "You there?"

The anger almost completely fizzles from him at the sound of Blaine, leaving exhaustion behind. "Yeah."

"I hope you're not too mad. They'll be there soon."

"What did you tell them?" Kurt is ashamed at how his voice trembles.

"Nothing, Kurt. Not really," Blaine says. "And you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. They won't push."

"Okay," Kurt whispers.

"They will be at the front entrance in twenty minutes – does that give you enough time to get your stuff?"

Kurt squeezes his hand around the handle of his bag as he answers, allowing his pacing to take him closer to the door to the stairwell so that he can go back down to his level. "I already have a bag ready."

"Good. Do you want me to stay on the line until you meet with them?"

Kurt's heart warms a little at the care in his friend's voice, but he shakes his head. "No – I should talk to Finn. Tell him at least where I'm going."

"Oh – okay." Blaine sounds disappointed. "I wish I was there," Blaine sighs.

Kurt lets his lips pull into the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Me too."

Kurt reaches the door to his level, bag in one hand and phone in the other, and puts his bag down so that he can grab the keycard from his pocket. "I should go."

"Will you call me when you get to my brother's?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll talk to you soon, okay? And thank you."

"It's no problem, Kurt. You know that."

Kurt sniffs once and says, "Bye."

"Bye."

Hanging up, Kurt slips his phone back into his pocket and picks up his bag again. Before he opens the door he looks out the little window, but doesn't see Mr. Schuester anywhere in sight.

The trip down the hall, knowing where he is going, is enough to leave Kurt's heart racing yet again. He stops in front of the door, hand holding to keycard out, just preparing himself.

Sucking in one big breath and holding it in his lungs until it burns, Kurt blows it out slowly and closes his eyes. He can do this.

When he finally slips back into the room with the keycard, Kurt moves to where Finn is sleeping soundly, trying his best not to bump into or trip over anything in the dark.

"Finn," he whispers. "Finn – wake up."

Finn's mouth opens and he licks his lips, head shifting on his pillow slightly, but he doesn't move otherwise.

Heart pounding in his chest and his stomach clenching, Kurt tries again, this time more urgently. "Finn. Get up." He uses one finger to poke his stepbrother in the shoulder, jabbing him sharply as he speaks.

"Kurt? What're you doin'?" Finn asks, tired and confused. His eyes are just barely open and there is a little dribble of drool on the corner of his lips.

Kurt clutches his little bag to his side and bites his lip. "I'm leaving – I'll be back in the morning. Please just – just cover for me, okay?"

"What?" Finn says sharply, sounding more awake as his eyes shoot open wide. "Where are you going? Why?"

"Shh," Kurt murmurs, the noise hissing out over his lips. "Quiet."

Finn sits up and the blankets pool around him. "What's going on? Why are you leaving? You could get in a lot of trouble, Kurt, and we need you –"

"Finn," Kurt says, cutting him off. From the other side of Finn's bed Puck grunts and rolls over, one of his arms sliding out of the covers to rest over his head. Kurt is momentarily caught by the movement, his tightly-strung nerves wrenching.

Finn notices the movement and keeps quiet as he stands, motioning to the door. Kurt nods and follows his tall step-brother to the door, which they open slowly to sneak out into the hall.

The second the door is closed behind them Finn says, "What's going on? Why are you leaving?"

Trying to keep from worrying his already sore bottom lip any further, Kurt chews on the inside of his mouth instead. "I have to leave – I'm only going to be away for the night. I'll come back bright and early, before anyone else realizes that I was gone."

Shaking his head, hair highlighted by the lights of the hallway, Finn frowns. "Dude, that's not cool. What if you get caught? You could ruin our chances at Nationals."

"Finn," Kurt says, "I can't stay here. I-I can't be in that room." Giving the tall boy a look, letting his eyes show exactly what he is feeling, Kurt continues, "It's too much."

Finn looks at him in confusion for a moment before his expression clears. "Oh. Is it like what happened in the kitchen, dude? Because that was freaky."

Kurt flinches at the reminder, his brain supplying images of a looming figure and broken glass. Of Finn's surprised look when Kurt had swung out wildly with his fist to connect with Finn's face. "Yeah," he mutters hoarsely.

"Why don't you stay with the girls? You're cool with them, right?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Mr. Schuester said 'no'."

"Did you tell him –"

"No," Kurt cuts in. "And neither will you."

Nodding slowly with wide eyes, Finn looks shocked by the conviction in Kurt's tone. "Yeah. Okay. Why don't you sneak into the girls' room? Just send Mercedes a text or something." Finn shrugs as he offers the solution, the dim light of the hotel hallway highlighting the earnestness of his features.

Kurt shakes his head. "No. If Mr. Schuester catches me –"

"I know," Finn interrupts. "But it's better than staying here all night."

Kurt shifts on his feet and says, "I've already made arrangements."

"What do you mean? What are you planning to do?"

"Blaine called his dad and brother. They have a room I can stay in for the night."

"Dude – Kurt – do you think that's a good idea?"

Kurt bites his lip, gnawing at the raw flesh, and sighs. "I don't know. But I need to get out of here, Finn." Looking around the hall, making sure it is empty, Kurt continues. "I've already had one flashback, and I – I really need go."

Finn looks unsure, but he doesn't try to discourage Kurt any further. "How are you going to get there?"

"They're coming to get me. They should be here soon."

Finn nods, but his eyebrows pull together in confusion. "How is staying with them any different from being with us?"

Kurt's eyes fall to the floor and he traces the patterns on the carpet as he answers. "They have a room that I can stay in alone. I can lock the door, have some space. I don't have to be so close to so many..." Kurt trails off as he trains his gaze back on Finn.

"Guys," Finn finishes for Kurt. After a short silence he says, "I hate him, you know."

Kurt huffs out a little breath to hide the sob that makes its way out of his throat. "I know."

A silence stretches between them for a moment and Kurt grips his small bag tighter, sweat slicking his palm and tremors still wracking his digits. Just knowing that he will soon be away from here, on his way to somewhere that feels safer even in thought, eases the tightness in his chest and the spinning in his head.

Knowing that he will have to leave soon, Kurt finally speaks again. "Can you not mention this to my dad –"

"You're not going to tell him?" Finn asks urgently. "Kurt, dude, he's got to know."

Kurt huffs out a breath in irritation and crosses his arms over his chest. "Finn. Shut up. If you would listen instead of making assumptions, you would know that I was merely asking you to hold off until morning." He looks at his stepbrother pointedly. "When I am going to phone him myself."

"Oh," Finn says. "Okay then." He shrugs and looks a little sheepish. "I just didn't want to have to hide this – it's hard enough when I'm trying to pretend I didn't eat the last piece of pizza."

Kurt raises one eyebrow at his stepbrother and even though he doesn't laugh, he allows appreciation to wash through him at the attempt at humour. Finn always has been good at trying to cheer him up when he needs it.

"So you'll cover for me?"

Finn's face is soft as he says, "Yeah dude, of course."

"Thank you. I should be back before Mr. Schuester even notices I'm gone. But if he does... just tell him I went down to get a pop or something."

Finn reaches out slowly, like he's going to grab Kurt's shoulder, but stops short. It reminds Kurt of why Finn might be afraid to touch him, of the day in the kitchen when he had punched Finn for trying to help him.

"I've got this. You don't have to worry." Finn smiles at him reassuringly. "What are bro's for, right?"

Kurt smiles back. "Right. I'll see you in the morning, then." He takes a step back and changes his bag into his left hand as his fingers start to ache again. "Thanks again."

Nodding, Finn turns back to the door, but then stops suddenly, looking over at Kurt sheepishly. "Um. I don't have a keycard. Can you –"

Shaking his head in exasperated amusement, Kurt walks to the door and opens it for Finn, waving silently as the boy disappears into the room.

As he is walking away, Kurt hesitates in front of the girls' room, not hearing a sound from inside. Maybe he's making the wrong decision; maybe he should stay here.

But it's too late. Blaine's father and brother are already on the way to pick him up.

Well, he thinks, at least Mr. Schuester hasn't already directly forbid him from using this option.

What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Will Schuester has been an educator long enough to know that he will get barely any sleep the entire time he and New Directions are in New York. He also knows that he can't watch all of his students all of the time, and that he will have to afford them a large portion of trust not to disobey his orders.

He isn't foolish enough to think that they will follow his every word, but he hopes that they will moderate their urges to sneak out and destroy hotel property. It's all about finding a balance between suspicion and trust, he has found.

With those thoughts in mind, he heads down to the lobby of the hotel for a fortifying coffee. There is a chair at the end of the hall with his name on it and it will be a long night if there were to be no caffeine running through his system.

If his encounter with Kurt is any indication, he should patrol the hallway at least for tonight. This is when they are most likely to take the chance and sneak out, and if they see him there they will be less likely to try again.

One cup of coffee already warming his stomach and a new one warming his palm through his travel mug, Will turns from the counter in the main lobby. He will be forever grateful for the large complementary coffee thermos the hotel keeps full at all times – it is much better than brewing his own in his room. The coffee never tastes quite right from those miniature pots.

He has just started walking toward the elevators when he sees it; a tall slender form holding a small bag in hand and walking swiftly, toward the entrance to the hotel. If it wasn't for the exact timing of his return to his room he would never have seen Kurt out of bed.

Kurt, distinctive in his sharply dressed manner and by his straight posture, is walking almost hesitantly, like he isn't sure about what he is doing.

Seeing him down here, out of his room, especially after talking to him about it, makes irritation blossom in Will's chest. He never would have thought that _Kurt_ of all of his students would be the one to sneak out. Puck or Santana, but not Kurt.

It isn't long after Will spots Kurt that the boy stops, stands just in front of the large glass doors to the hotel, and wraps his unoccupied right arm around his waist. His head swivels back and forth, obviously searching outside, and curiosity fills Will; what could Kurt possibly be looking for?

The thought of going up to Kurt and confronting him has just started to overcome his sense of surprise when it happens.

Two men approach Kurt, coming in from outside, both dark-haired and hazel-eyed, but of differing heights and ages. The younger one, who looks to be around twenty, immediately claps Kurt on the shoulder and smiles reassuringly. The older man, tall and stoic, nods once at Kurt and offers a brisk and sturdy handshake.

Will frowns as Kurt asks a question, face ducked a little downward and cheeks glowing pink. Whatever the question was, the younger man shakes his head a little in response and says something back. The exchange seems to calm Kurt, and the boy adjusts the small bag in his hands with less nervous energy.

The whole exchange has a cold lump forming in Will's stomach – ever since he had spotted Kurt out of bed, he's known something was wrong, that something was going to happen. Now the young member of New Directions is meeting with strange men, strange men much older than him, at half-passed midnight. In a hotel lobby in the middle of an unknown city.

Something is going on, and Will is going to find out. Kurt is his student and his responsibility, and he would love to have an explanation for what the boy is thinking. If he is at all.

He starts to walk toward the small group just as they turn and exit the hotel's front door. Kurt goes with them, the slightness of his figure fading into the night much faster than Will can believe.

A kind of low-grade panic, shot-through with curiosity, fills Will's chest, and by the time he makes it out the glass sliding doors, all three of the men have ducked into a dark sedan. Kurt, his student and responsibility, is about to disappear into New York City with a pair of unknown men.

He has to stop them.

Will starts to run, trying to get to the vehicle before it takes off, but it is too late. He doesn't even think as he hails a cab parked out front the hotel, jerking the door open and clambering into the back seat and buckling up quickly as he says, "Follow that car, please – the Lexus."

The driver looks at him through the rear-view mirror like he's mad, but shrugs in a way that lets Will know that he's used to odd fairs, and signals out onto the road only two cars behind.

Will's heart thrums in his chest – he just watched one of his students leave the hotel with two strange men. Without telling him. He wonders if it has anything to do with denying Kurt's wish to stay with the girls, and he thinks to himself that if it is, and if Kurt gets hurt because of this, it will be his fault.

But then the notion twists in his mind as another pops up beside it; Kurt should know better. Will trusts his students to use their common sense and stay safe, and what Kurt is doing does not involve any of those.

It isn't long before they are tailing the other vehicle down winding residential streets, the streetlights passing by overhead in a strobe-like manner. About three right corners and left later, Will's taxi comes around a corner just in time to see Kurt and the two men halfway up a walkway to a house.

"There – there," Will points out. "Stop here."

Will opens the door of the taxi almost before the vehicle is stopped, yelling for the driver to wait for him as he runs toward the large house. A light in one of the rooms flicks on as he approaches the door and he can see the silhouettes of all three people.

As soon as he reaches the front door Will brings a hand up and starts pounding on the solid wood. The force of his knocking is enough to leave his hand sore, so Will switches to his left after a few hits, hoping that the men will actually open up.

He is about to start yelling, mouth open and lungs full, when the door suddenly swings inward. Will is left standing with his lips apart, eyes wide and fist raised high.

Will smothers his instinct to press his way into the house, eyes locking with Kurt's while the boy's wide ones stare at him in surprise from where he stands further in the house. Will doesn't even notice the large body between them at first.

"Mr. Schuester? What are you doing here?"

Will's mouth drops open briefly before he bursts out, "What am I doing here? Kurt – you left the hotel without asking, without telling anyone where you were going. I couldn't just let you go." Will stares at Kurt incredulously. How could the boy even consider that Will would just let him go gallivanting off into the night unsupervised?

An angry flush infuses Kurt's face and his eyes become shuttered as he crosses his arms over his chest.

The older man who had opened the door, who has been silent so far, sees Kurt's reaction and steps over to stand in front of Will. "Mr. Schuester? My name is Caleb Anderson – would you like to come in?"

Looking down at the hand offered to him, Will hesitantly grasps it in his own, shaking hard.

"I'd prefer to gather my student and leave."

Mr. Anderson looks back at Kurt briefly and Will is amazed at how Kurt's face changes from flinty to desperate in a matter of seconds.

"Why don't we sit down and talk about this? Maybe we can come to a solution," Mr. Anderson proposes, face and palms open as though to show his honest intentions.

"Kurt?" Will asks, staring at his student as though he has never seen the boy before in his life.

Kurt backs away a step and lifts his chin, nostrils flaring just a little. "I'm not leaving."

"Kurt," Will says again, frustration and anger slipping into his voice, "is this about not getting to stay with the girls? Is that why you decided to leave, without permission, in the middle of the night?"

His student doesn't say anything, but his arms tighten and his lips purse, like he's holding back from saying something.

Will shakes his head. "Don't you think this is more than a little ridiculous, Kurt?" Will doesn't give Kurt the chance to answer before he goes on. "And how do you even know these men, Kurt?"

Glancing between Will and the other two men, Kurt clears his throat and says, "This is Caleb and Sean Anderson. Blaine's father and brother."

Will looks at the men shortly and nods. "Will Schuester. I can't say it is a pleasure to meet you, under the circumstances." He looks to Kurt once again. "What are you doing here?"

Kurt flinches a little and looks sick. He obviously is hiding something, and Will wonders what could possibly drive him to do something like this.

Mr. Anderson, also seeing Kurt reaction, steps forward and gestures with one hand further into the house. "Why don't we sit?"

Licking his lips and seeing that he doesn't seem to have any other choice, Will quickly kicks off his shoes and steps into the house, barely reacting as the door closes behind him.

"This way," says Mr. Anderson, indicating for Kurt to go ahead with Sean into the living room.

Will follows the tall man through a short hallway that opens into a quite large and open-floored room. There are two long black leather couches that face each other in the centre and two matching reclining chairs to one side. There is no TV in sight.

Kurt immediately moves to sit in one of the recliners, almost folding into himself as he perches on the edge of the seat.

Mr. Anderson and his son sit on either side of one of the couches, leaving Will to sit on the opposing couch. The low-lying coffee table in the middle is all that separates them.

"Now," says Mr. Anderson, "what seems to be the problem?"

Something riles within Will at the words. "The _problem_ is that one of my students has been taken from my care without my authority."

Sean and Mr. Anderson glance at Kurt, but do not otherwise respond.

"I had to leave," Kurt pipes up. "I asked them to come and get me." One of Mr. Anderson's eyebrows lifts at that. Will wonders what Kurt has left out.

"But _why_, Kurt? What is so bad about being there?"

Kurt is silent for a minute, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before he says, "I can't sleep with the boys. You don't understand."

"Why?"

"Because I don't feel comfortable there."

"But Kurt –"

"No Mr. Schue – I can't be in that room. I can't."

"Why is this such a problem?" A tinge of anger laces Will's words, frustration winning out in him.

"Because Karofsky did more than just harass me, okay? And being in a room filled with boys, no matter how safe, is unbearable." Kurt's mouth slams shut as the words leave and he looks away from Will, not looking at anyone.

Silence encompasses the room for several long seconds and Will's mind stops short of forming any coherent sentences. "Kurt – what –"

Kurt blinks a few times in rapid succession and his eyes are bright and shinning even from across the room. "I can't be there," he bites out.

Will watches as Kurt's posture slumps and he brings up a hand to brush delicately under his left eye.

"Kurt," Will says softly, his chest aching in something, sympathy or guilt he doesn't know, "do you mean that Karofsky – that he –"

Kurt glances up, eyes hard and jaded like Will has never seen before, and then he looks away, like he can't stand to look into Will's eyes. "Before I transferred."

"But Kurt," Will says, "that was months ago."

Face draining of colour, Kurt nods shakily. "I know." He sounds ashamed, like it was his fault.

Will wonders how he had missed it, something so horrible and despicable happening to one of his students. There should have been signs, something to tell him that something terribly wrong was happening in Kurt's life.

The more frightening thought that pervades Will's mind is that maybe he had seen it, but hadn't done anything.

Will clears his throat in an effort to lessen the tightness in it. "Is that why you transferred?"

Kurt doesn't look at him, keeps his eyes glued to the floor, and nods. His shoulders are shaking just a little and his arms are wrapped around his own waist in some parody of a hug.

"Why don't you come back? I'll set you up with the girls," Will suggests, trying in any way to get Kurt to come back. He may have failed to notice how affected Kurt was by staying with the boys, but he could at least try to make up for it now.

"No." Kurt voice is barely there, choked out and paper-thin.

A sound, like that of rustling material, from Will's side catches his attention and he looks over at the Andersons, both having been silent through the exchange.

Mr. Anderson's left hand is clenched tight and Will watches as the large man's knuckles blanch and his face turns stony. Will feels a jolt of worry strike in his chest as dark hazel eyes catch on his own.

"I think there have been enough questions, Mr. Schuester." Mr. Anderson directs the statement at Will, but he looks to Kurt right after, his eyes changing to a mix of emotions that Will has no chance of identifying.

"Kurt," Mr. Anderson says, "why don't you go call Blaine? I'm sure he'd like to know that you made it here safely."

Kurt stares at his friend's father like he might want to protest, but nods and clutches his bag to his side anyway. "Where should I go?" he asks, and even Will can tell he is trying to keep his voice steady.

Blaine's brother, taller and lither than his younger sibling from what Will can tell, stands from the couch he had inhabited and claps his hands together. "I'll show you," he says. "Come on."

Kurt follows Sean from the room without a single parting glance in Will's direction. For a reason that Will can't quite grasp he feels like he just lost something, something that he will never get back again.

"It's getting late," Mr. Anderson says suddenly, catching Will's attention back to him. "I do believe it is time for you to go – you do have several other students you should be looking after, do you not?"

A blush of embarrassment, of indignation, infuses Will's neck and face, but he restrains his anger. "Yes," he says tightly. "What about Kurt?"

Mr. Anderson stands, his left hand only now unclenching from its powerful grasp. "I think it would be best if he were to stay here for the evenings while in New York."

"But –"

"And will return to your care at eight o'clock AM promptly each morning."

Pursing his lips, Will says, "Kurt is my student, Mr. Anderson, and he is my responsibility. I cannot, in good consciousness, leave him with strangers."

The spark of anger that ignites in Mr. Anderson's eyes is dim, but it still shines through, lighting the hazel depths with passion. "We aren't strangers, as you have already seen, Mr. Schuester. And it is obvious that Kurt will be more comfortable staying here than going back with you."

Will knows this is true, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

"Now – if you would please." Mr. Anderson spreads out one hand to indicate the way to the door, and his words are a statement, not a question.

They arrive at the door with tension nearly crackling between them, and Will's movements are sharp and jilting with frustration.

"Before you go," Mr. Anderson says as Will shoves his feet into his shoes, "you might want to take this." He hands Will a little square of paper – a business card.

Will takes the little piece of coloured paper with a quirk to his brow.

Mr. Anderson just looks at him blankly. "In case you need to contact me at any time." He then starts to shut the door, leaving Will out in the dark, but then pauses to say one last thing. "And I think you'll be satisfied to know that I will be having a conversation with Kurt's father in the morning – to sort everything out, you see? I do hope that will be satisfactory."

"Indeed," Will bites out. And then the door is closed and he is left alone, the only light on him glaring out from the widows of the house.

Will walks away from the house feeling like he has just walked away from something important, like he has lost an opportunity, and it churns in his gut. He doesn't like feeling like he's failed a student, and that Kurt went to someone else for help is even worse.

Maybe if he had known, if Kurt had told him what had happened, he could have helped the boy. And despite the anger and annoyance that he feels because of this entire situation, he can do nothing but hope Kurt will give him another chance.

The taxi is still waiting for him out front, the meter running and promising a steep bill, and Will stuffs Mr. Anderson's business card in his pocket. He hates that the other man managed to make him feel like a fool.

As he opens the back door to the car and slips inside, he looks back at the house one last time, eyes catching on the front window just as the light flickers off, leaving only the smallest hint of illumination from deeper in the house. The sudden loss of light prompts Will to tell the taxi driver to head back to the hotel, and he sits in the car, silent, with a chest full of dissatisfaction and a business card burning an imprint into his leg, until they arrive back where it all had started.

* * *

><p>I would have had this out a couple of days ago, but I'm travelling in the USA again and didn't have internet. Thank you <em>so much<em> to those who have read. I really hope you like this part as well :) Let me know?


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